


Eye of the Needle

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, References to death (not of the characters)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: The storm has no eye, so Beruka and Camilla create one.





	Eye of the Needle

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belated fill for day five of Fire Emblem Femslash Week.

They touch down on the storm’s edge. They may have been able to outrun it, but Camilla searched to no avail for a vein to redirect it. Now it is too dangerous to risk getting caught in the air.

While she searched, Beruka scouted a cabin for them to use in an emergency. No citizen of Nohr would dare turn away Camilla, or so she insists, though she chews a piece of hair at the idea of putting herself where she may not be wanted. It turns out not to matter. The cabin is neither abandoned nor empty; its last inhabitant is still slumped in a rocking chair, clothes hanging off their frame. The wind through the open door rocks the chair back. It rebounds with a creak.

At Camilla’s gesture, Beruka takes what remains of the corpse outside. She does not always think about how Camilla is host to the divine, not when everything about her is so tactile, but Camilla performs a basic rite while Beruka chops firewood. At some point she is aware Camilla is watching, though she doesn’t approach and pick up a bundle until there is more than they need.

Nohr’s wyverns are past death. They will be fine left in the cabin’s shade. Their riders pat their hide in consolation and provide orders before heading inside, where the smell of death replaces that of oncoming rain. It has never bothered them, but Camilla leaves the door and windows open until the storm is overhead.

Camilla drops into the chair and rocks as if it’s been hers all along. When Beruka has set up the fireplace, Camilla lights it from her spot with a few arcane words and a snap of her fingers. The snap also draws Beruka to her side, where Camilla arranges her clothes, then makes her actions moot by removing Beruka’s cape. She retrieves sewing supplies from a pouch at her hip. The holes in Beruka’s clothes are not new, and she does not know why Camilla suddenly cares.

Nevertheless she watches Camilla’s needle weave in and out, reconnecting torn edges, never quite matching the rhythm of her rocking or the rain pounding on the roof. Beruka recalls all of the ways to kill people with a needle, then forgets.

Lightning bleaches Camilla’s hair. The thunder seems to shake inside Beruka, as still as she’s standing. She knows how many hours she can stand in watch; it’s enough to last out the storm. If that’s all she’s going to do, she should watch the door. She would rather watch Camilla chew her lip, so she leaves to inspect the house. The spoiled rations will go to the wyverns; she gathers everything dried and a smattering of root vegetables to cook in a pot over the fire. She will eat anything, and Camilla has made do, but she finds herself wondering if it’s suitable.

Camilla calls her over and presents the cape with a flourish before wrapping it around Beruka. She ties it precisely, snugly, then almost immediately undoes the knot, her fingers roaming for purchase under cloth and metal. Recognizing Camilla’s dark eyes, Beruka does away with enough armor and weaponry to not dig into her before climbing into her lap.

One of Camilla’s hands curls around her to hold her firmly in place, the other directing her jaw with the lightest touch of a finger. Unlike sometimes, Camilla’s mouth is not hungry, which Beruka has learned means she plans to take her time. Beruka steadies herself on Camilla’s shoulders, which are angular through the fabric, and settles into her warmth as they rock together.

A tip too far makes her grasp the wood, stopping them just in time. A growl forms in her throat as she imagines Camilla’s head hitting the floor. She curls up against Camilla’s neck and waits for instructions to takes this elsewhere, but Camilla only rocks, slowly, as if nothing happened.

“We could fix that dreadful creak tomorrow,” Camilla says, even though they will be long gone. Beruka doesn’t ask.


End file.
